Sunshine. It hits bright early on a Sunday morning; the climate is cool, probably no higher than seventy degrees. Neighbors are languidly making their way up and down the block, enjoying their mildew strolls; some elderly couples are watering plants; some children are just barely awakening; several rooms and houses fill up with savory aromas of fresh, homemade breakfast. It's a casual morning; birds singing, insects chirping, dogs barking — particularly listless for a suburban neighborhood. And last but not least, of course, there is a lazy couple enjoying their flavorful time sleeping in on the glorious Sunday morning — because Sundays are a guilty pleasure; because Sundays are their favorite; and because Sundays are just so freakin' amazing. 

It's the fifth house on the right hand side, all its wondrous and quaint glory basking in the bleary rays of sunshine. Green grass adorns the front and back lawn beautifully, stunning potted plants decorating the pathway leading to the front entrance. The interior is just as tranquil, especially in the second room to the left down the hallway. It's a bedroom, and in this bedroom there lies a woman and her faithful husband together in bed, slumbering collectively. The open windows welcome the soft breeze with open arms, tenderly rustling the man's soft brown hair; his ginger lips curling up with sleepy delight as he rolls over with a grunt; his arms snakes instinctively around his partner's waist. 

She's already awake, glistening optics glancing upwards to admire the sculpted visage of her lover. His flawless smile is dainty, stunning and so gorgeous in its own lazy way. The dust of sleep is ameliorated from her hazy gaze as he plants a gentle kiss upon her lips, rumbling chuckle resonating from his well-defined chest. A loving, "Good morning, beautiful" flutters into her ears and her heart soars higher than the birds migrating back home from their southern trip. His calloused hands are roaming, simpering up and down the contours of her small waist as she rests her head atop his shoulder, her slender fingers drumming aimlessly upon his biceps. 

They lay there motionlessly, satisfied hums dropping occasionally from their lips as they indulge quietly in each other's existence. Because Sunday mornings are their favorite, and they wholeheartedly believe it's only worth spending if it's spent together. Yixing drags a thumb across Lihua's cheek, brushing away the tint of pink that cascades across her picturesque features; his grin is blinding, urging Lihua further into adorning oblivion. He kisses her once, and again, and again, and once more, upon her cheeks; some on her forehead and nose, and finally upon her smiling lips. "I love you," he whispers to her. She swallows the words with much vigor, heart palpitating with happiness. 

Sunday mornings are the best, but Sunday morning kisses are even better.

Sunday afternoon is scorching and by the time two o' clock hits, all doors and windows are propped open with the slight hope some cool air will simper in. Neighbors have retreated back into their cooly insulated homes; elderly couples have gone into town for a nice brunch; children are scattered across lawns, dashing through sprinklers and squelching in kiddie pools. The climate is hot and dry, the sun merciless as its rays penetrate harshly into the air of the suburban neighborhood. Dogs have withdrawn from their endearing activities, moving later to wade beneath shady trees; birds have flown back to their cool homes, delicate little beings resting beneath the cooled protection of green leaves. And last but not least, there is Yixing and Lihua, sprawled out across the living room floors with motored fans blowing streaks of wind through their matted hairs.

Their libs are entangled and they're not quite sure how they've reached this compromising position, but they don't care. Yixing's a furnace, sculpted body eliciting so much heat that Lihua feels as if she's burning inside the heart of a volcano; and though she might never admit it, she secretly enjoys the uncanny warmth her husband's body emanates. Honey speckled hair filters across his bleary eyes and Lihua makes a move to brush it away, soft fingertips padding against the moist skin as they dance across his forehead. She smiles up at him, silent words filtering through her twinkling pupils and straight into Yixing's heart.

He easily reciprocates her chiming beam, ears echoing with the lulling sound of the fan and Lihua's breath combined. He sighs, a dreamy gaze blanketing his dark irises. The sensation of Lihua's cool fingertips dance effortlessly across the bare of his chest, and it's in that moment Yixing inquires when he discarded of his own shirt; it draws melodious laughter from Lihua, and he quietly praises himself for the reward. "You're so silly," he hears, but he doesn't take it straight to heart because he'd much rather take Lihua's grinning face there. Yixing cups his wife's cheeks with a jeering chortle dropping from his lips; there's a high rush of adrenaline coursing through him, and Yixing's not sure if he's high off of Lihua's laughter or her homemade pancakes. 

"I love you." She's the first to say it this time, and Yixing without a second though, breezily returns the favor. His lips press tenderly against hers, a heated dance immediately ensuing as their hands clutch at each other; as their hearts drum repeatedly against their chests, threatening to burst from the elation soaring through their entwined souls. 

Sunday afternoons are hot, but Sunday afternoon kisses are hotter. 

The cool atmosphere has returned and as the drop of golden sun filters below the horizon, Lihua can be found in the kitchen. Her crafty hands are preparing a simple dinner, but Yixing is right behind her, arms circled around her waist with giddy eyes looking on excitedly into the sauteeing pan. He teases her with a cocky smirk, boyish giggles dropping from his lips as they press hotly against the milky flesh of her skin. A clash of teeth here, swipe of his tongue here, and he's got Lihua pinned to the refrigerator with an entirely new facade sweeping across his sharp features.

His coy fingers turn off the stove, the plate of fried rice left neglected as he resumes his task at hand; sly fingers untie the knot of the apron behind her back, his eyes studiously watching her as she flashes him a sultry smile. "Dinner's going to get cold," Lihua whispers teasingly up to the towering man. Yixing steals a glimpse, tongue swiping over his lips with prompted seduction. He chuckles, giving his hair a suggestive tousle before leaning down to encompass Lihua's lips in his. "Last I checked," he murmurs with a soft growl tracing his slurring words, "I was going to have you for dinner; and the last thing you'll be is cold."

Legs circle Yixing's waist, the effortless gesture placing a remarkable grin atop his supple lips. Lihua presses her forehead against Yixing's hands snaking around his neck as he snags the opportunity to flourish her lips with heart-stopping, knee-buckling kisses. A soft waltz of smoldering lips entrap Lihua in a dazed trance, her tongue incoherently chanting Yixing's name like a practiced mantra. The latter can simply grunt, his chiseled frame snapping his hips against hers for a delicious friction he's been craving all day. "Lihua," her name is uttered sinfully, raspy timbre coating it with so much longing. They're not going to last long. 

Sweet lips adorn Lihua's collarbones and she feels her back lift off of the cool metal surface of the fridge. The smaller can't help but arch her back further into Yixing's body, head thrown back with euphoric pleasure. A dry laugh resonates across the air, filling the house with sweltering jubilance. "I love you," Yixing coos as he fans her petite body across their shared bed, "so much." The words are swallowed quietly, inaudibly reciprocated with meaningful touches and heated kisses. Neither of the two are sure how much their hearts can take, but their sure the aching is a result of their overbearing love.

And the two think to themselves: Sunday nights are romantic, but Sunday night kisses are ier. It's then that Yixing realizes this is neither the work of Jongdae, Zitao, Wufan, or Tumblr quotes; it's neither the work of stupid teenage-created recipes; it's all Yixing, and it's only Yixing that can ever make Lihua this happy. As the night grows younger, then, neither Yixing nor Lihua can wait for Monday morning because the joined newlyweds only know that the routine shall be continued; their practiced love shall only resume their blissful task; and with each passing day, their marriage shall only grow in happiness — because they are made for each other.

Final Level review:

→ bake with kisses
→ serve daily with generous portions